Fools Rush In
by DaisyPoisonPen
Summary: BvS AU Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne can't help their instant connection. But the reporter, stunning though he is, has been burned too many times by casual relationships to let himself fall so quickly. With Valentine's Day approaching, the Bruce must convince the reporter that true love at first sight is possible. M for sexual content and explicit language.
1. Chapter 1

_"Wise men say,  
'only fools rush in'  
but I can't help  
falling in love with you."_

 _-Elvis Presley_

* * *

"Who is that?" Clark Kent casually pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose, watching the black roadster pull smoothly to the edge of the red carpet. He hadn't originally wanted to work the gala, but Lois was out on some other assignment and Jenny had flat-out refused, stating that it was much easier for a guy to get ready for a formal event in one day than a woman. So, he was stuck holding the bag. He'd arrived about half hour before, feeling rather neutral about the undoubtedly boring night that would take place. The ballroom was surrounded by glass wall that gave a generic view of the city around it, and inside it was all white and sheer draping and fancy chandeliers. Clark felt as out of place as he did bored.

The gala was an annual one, one they did every spring for the benefactors of Gotham City's educational and literacy programs—basically, a 'congratulations, you're rich' party.

"Figures you wouldn't know."

"Should I?"

"That's Bruce Wayne."

"Oh." Clark watched the man smoothly hand his keys to the valet, and then smoothly turn to the flashing cameras, and then smoothly make his way on to the red carpet, and then nod smoothly, and answer questions with his smooth voice and smooth smile, and then he smoothly ran his hands along the edge of the smooth black jacket of his perfectly tailored suit, smoothly refastening the button before making his smooth entrance into the gala.

"You really don't know who Bruce Wayne is?"

Clark gritted his teeth, irritated by how _smooth_ the man was. "I wasn't aware that I _had_ to know."

* * *

He had only been in the room five minutes and he already hated it. Lex Luthor was a conniving brat. His weird, psychotic welcome speech was par for course, really, but oddly disturbing just the same, and the stuffy people that said they 'cared' about Gotham's literacy rates from their gleaming Metropolis skyscrapers were congratulating him for his contributions, shaking his hand, posing for newspaper photos, and patting his back whilst secretly judging him for throwing money at Gotham's shitty education systems while he could be doing literally anything else with his money (like donating to their city council's campaigns).

He went to the bar and ordered a double scotch. The liquid was both soothing and uncomfortable as it went down its throat. He figured liquor was probably a lot like criminals in Gotham: the more expensive it was, the better it tasted and the prettier the packaging. Cheap liquor probably tasted disgusting (not that he'd know) and looked shitty too. But in the end, cirrhosis of the liver, or hepatitis, or any of that other bullshit didn't give a fuck how expensive the liquor was that caused it.

He downed the rest of his drink in one long pull.

"Mr. Wayne?"

He lowered his glass and was startled, for a change. Not by the fact that there was a person in front of him—it was almost impossible to sneak up on Bruce Wayne after all—but by the fact that said person had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, except the top left corner of his right eye, which was light brown. _Holy shit._ He tried to listen, really he did, but his lips were moving, and they were just full enough and a healthy, fleshy pink that he could see himself nibbling on, or wrapped around his—

"Mr. Wayne...?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I—I, my foundation already gave my statement to the—"

"To the Daily Planet?" The reporter raised an eyebrow. He extended his hand, his amusement evident. He probably thought Bruce was already drunk.

"Right. Do I own that one? Or was that the other one?" Bruce asked, mostly to take him down a peg. He wasn't allowed to be amused by Bruce's sudden befuddlement, he was off-puttingly handsome and it just wasn't fair. But he watched as his expression turned bemused, his chin dropping just a little bit although his smirk stayed in place as he lowered his hand. He realized that the man's glasses, a thick, glossy, black frame, made his eye color stand out even more, but it hid the length of his eyelashes. Holy God, when the hell had he ever noticed someone's eyelashes? Well besides noticing how ridiculous some women looked when they wore fake ones.

The bemused expression turned into a speculative expression. "I doubt you'd have any interest in owning the Daily Planet. You seem to have a problem with the topics the Planet tends to find relevant."

Bruce went from turned on to utterly pissed. "Oh, you mean the fact that you write fluff pieces for your man in the sky every time he saves a kitten out of a tree because the copies fly off the shelves?"

"Cute. Actually, _I'm_ more interested in Gotham. See, all of this is really nice but while you're bitching about Metropolis's man in the sky, Gotham its hiding its very own man in the dark. What do you have to say about the so-called Bat of Gotham?"

Bruce let his expression turn as frigid as possible. "Nothing that people like you could ever understand."

"You know a lot less about people like me than you think," the man said, his blue eyes also turning ice cold. They stared at each other, stony, gray-brown eyes dueling with ice blue ones. Bruce was impressed by how utterly unaffected the reporter was by the practiced glare that made lesser men cower. This was definitely not one of those men.

As he watched, the twin ice chips in the man's face morphed into an expression that Bruce knew and understood all too well. It was haunted loneliness surrounded by the thickest walls that anyone could ever build around themselves. This man was hurting, and he was hiding something. He relented. Maybe the reporter was right.

Bruce finally released the unyielding stare, running his hand through his hair and watching the way the reporter's eyes flickered as they followed the movement. "Look... let's change the subject. Don't you want... some official statement about my donation or something?"

His pretty pink lips pursed again, but he acquiesced, although his eyes were still cold.

Bruce felt the need to give him something more. He'd clearly come here for a scoop, and Bruce didn't really intend to piss him off. Actually, he realized that he really wanted the man to stick around. "Let me be honest with you about it then."

Finally, the ice melted away from his eyes, and he nodded.

* * *

Clark couldn't believe what he was hearing. The level of corruption and misinformation that ran rampant in the city made him literally nauseous. The schools literally would force kids to go even when they lost their heating in the winter. Kids were failing their grades in literal droves. In Gotham City alone, there were close to forty thousand students. Out o those, less than one hundred tested in their grade level in mathematics, and less than fifty tested at their grade level for English, reading, or language arts. Lack of after-school programs and literacy programs were practically non-existent. And all the while, the school was raising the salary of the superintendent and cutting pay for teachers and teaching assistants. Crime was going up in school, especially drug-related crimes, at an alarming rate.

Bruce seemed genuinely afflicted with the issues that were plaguing that city. His shoulders seemed to sag the more he spoke, and his fingers went to pinch the bridge of his nose more than once.

His fingers were long. Actually, for some reason, Clark found himself watching his hands a lot as he talked. He kept his hand gestures to a bare minimum—probably an effort to still look composed—but Clark saw when they would clench, either his left hand wringing his right, or clenching into fists before stretching as far as they could go. Every time his fingers curled, it made Clark's mouth dry out just a little. He suggested that they go to the bar.

He noticed that Bruce ordered only sparkling water. Clark decided he should do the same. The water helped with the random cottonmouth Clark kept getting when he paid too much attention to Bruce's fingers. _Smooth. His hands are smooth just like the rest of him. I hate him. Truly, I hate him._

He decided to distract himself by actually engaging in the conversation. He focused on finishing his notes and then he looked up, meeting Mr. Wayne's eyes. "I'm going to investigate this, Mr. Wayne. What you've told me about tonight is a severe injustice. The people of Gotham deserve better. Their _children_ deserve better."

Bruce gave him a tired smile, and Clark found himself disappointed when it didn't reach his eyes. "I hope you get farther than anyone else has."

Clark was determined to see that exhausted look go away. "I will, you'll see."

This time, Bruce's smile was genuine and amused. "Suddenly, I don't doubt that at all."

"I can send you a copy before it prints, if you'd like."

Bruce shook his head. "You don't have to do that."

"Of course I do, Mr. Wayne. It's... well, it's in my job description."

Bruce met his eyes, earthy gray-brown and shrewd. He studied the reporter's entire countenance, from the way he was sitting to the expression on his face. He decided that this man was just what he wanted. "Call me Bruce," he said finally.

At some point, they moved on to other topics. Bruce felt comfortable just talking. He should have been unnerved by how suddenly unguarded he felt, but he just... basked in it. It was so rare for him to not have to pretend with someone. Time was flying by without his notice, and he couldn't find it in him to care about that either.

He eventually had to confess that he had completely missed the reporter's name, much to said reporter's amusement. "Clark Kent," he said, chuckling. He liked the way Clark Kent's eyes shimmered when he was laughing. He stretched his hand out for Bruce to take. Bruce clasped it, not letting go.

"We should get out of here, Clark Kent."

He watched the way Clark Kent's blue eyes darkened slightly. The way his pupils dilated, and the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed made him want to lean over and drag his tongue over Clark Kent's Adams apple.

There was a barely-there flush rising in Clark Kent's cheeks when he nodded. "I would like that," he finally said.

* * *

Bruce eventually took Clark to his penthouse. Clark tried not to let his eyes fall out of his head, but it was honestly difficult. "This is amazing," he said as he stepped into the living room. The space had high ceilings and floor to ceiling windows. Everything seemed comfortable, but it was clearly and obviously all expensive, luxury décor.

He felt Bruce's hand on his back, and he turned to him instinctively, happy to find himself so close to the older man. He found that he liked Bruce's height, not towering over him, but just right for him to have to tilt his head up to kiss, and he did. He pulled at the lapels of Bruce's jacket until he slipped it off. As soon as it was gone, Clark went right to work on the tie and the buttons of his shirt.

Bruce for his part, didn't mind being disrobed with hands as practiced and sensual as Clark's, but he wanted to revel in the experience. He reached down and placed his hands over Clark's, forcing him to slow his frantic displacement of the buttons.

Clark wasn't pleased. He pulled his lips away, looked at him and frowned.

"Slow down," Bruce whispered by way of explanation.

Clark shook his head. "No," he said.

"No?" Bruce echoed with an arched eyebrow.

He shook his head. "No," he repeated, leaning up to his lips again, but keeping his eyes locked on those earthy, dark ones. "I don't want to go slow," he said against Bruce's lips. "I want you to fuck me."

Bruce looked positively evil as he said, "I will."

" _Now_ ," Clark countered.

"Now," Bruce agreed, kissing him slowly. "And all night."

Clark couldn't help his moan. Bruce was now working on Clark's jacket and shirt buttons, teasingly letting his fingers slip underneath and smirking at every time he managed to make Clark's muscles twitch. Once the shirt was open and off, Bruce smoothed his palms over Clark's skin. It was addictively warm as he pressed his hands down toward his waist, and then around to his back, pressing their chests together as he did. He lowered his lips to Clark's neck, waiting for just a breath so that he could feel the shudder that skittered its way across his skin and down his spine. He smiled. "Do you want me to kiss you here?"

"Yes, please," Clark whispered.

Bruce let his lips touch Clark's skin, but he didn't move them. Instead, he stayed still, listening to how Clark's breaths turned ragged. Then he dragged his finger tips up Clark's spine at the same time he sucked that warm, perfect skin between his lips and against his tongue. Clark Kent tasted like something indescribable but also familiar. He let himself taste the skin with great care, minding the way he was writhing against him, soft moans falling from his lips every time Bruce found a new spot to taste.

His tongue finally made it up near Clark's ear, and he tugged the fleshy lobe between his lips, loving the unashamed and wanton sounds that were pouring out of Clark. "Come with me," he said, taking his hands and tugging him towards the bedroom.

Clark had other ideas, and once Bruce was focused on moving, pulled him toward the couch and shoved him on to it, planting himself in his lap and pressing his lips to Bruce's mouth before he could protest. Bruce let himself relent, too swept away by the amazing lips against his, the strong hands liberally roaming his body, and the way Clark was grinding against him. His lips were finally free enough for him to say, "Wh—the bedroom is... that way."

Clark shook his head, letting his tongue carefully trace Bruce's bottom lip. "Mm-mm. No bedroom."

"Why not?"

Clark's face fell. "No bedroom."

"Hey, okay," Bruce acquiesced quickly, worried that he'd try to bolt. "Right here," he said, leaning up and pressing light kisses to his lips and bucking his hips up to match Clark's grinding. He smiled when Clark groaned, letting his head fall back. "Stand up and take this off," he said, gripping Clark's ass in his hands and squeezing. He couldn't wait to feel each cheek skin to skin, because right now all he felt was how firm they were.

For now, he watched Clark slowly undo his belt, and then his fly. He stepped out of his pants, the fabric pooled on the floor and leaving him standing in nothing but black boxer briefs and socks. Bruce eyed him greedily, swallowing when he took in the impressive battle Clark's arousal was having with the thin fabric. He gestured with his finger and a lewd smirk for Clark to remove his boxer briefs.

Clark pulled them down and stepped out of them too, and Bruce couldn't help how his hands reached out, one reaching for that gloriously firm ass again, and the other wrapping around and stroking his erection. "God," he whispered, stroking up and down his length. He pulled the tip of it into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue and teasing the leaking slit until Clark's legs were trembling with his effort to stay still. He pushed himself to his feet, letting go of Clark's dripping cock with a loud pop. "Be right back," he said, patting Clark's ass. "Lay down."

He listened as Clark made himself comfortable while he went into the bedroom, retrieving condoms and a container of lube from the nightstand. He frowned at the bed for a moment, wishing he could see what Clark looked like in his bed, with his gray silk sheets clinging to the curve of his ass.

He throbbed. _Fuck._

He went back into the living room to find Clark with one hand wrapped around his cock and stroking slowly, and the other thrown carelessly over his head, dangling down the side of the couch. He didn't know someone could be so effortlessly gorgeous and sexual. He ripped the condom wrapper open and slipped it out of the package, pleased with how Clark's hand froze for just one second before he continued stroking. He turned his head to watch him put it on, his hand faltering again.

Bruce finally sat and then knelt between his legs, taking Clark's erection into his mouth again. He reveled in the way he could cause Clark's moans to turn into curses with just his tongue. Clark was watching him with glassy eyes, his lips parted slightly, his breaths pushing past them in soft pants.

Bruce squeezed some of the lube out on to his fingers, working it all over them before using his index finger to trail some right over Clark's puckered hole. Clark's eyes slipped closed and his head fell back as he worked first one finger, and then another inside, all the while listening to Clark's groans with satisfaction, even though he was painfully hard. Clark was gripping into his hair and tugging with each movement of his fingers.

"Unh, God," Clark strained, "Fuck me already."

"Why so eager?" Bruce teased.

"Just..."

Bruce pinned both of his wrists to the couch and pushed into him without warning, causing Clark to scream into his teeth. He kept the pace hard, each stroke driving and addicting, until sweat beaded on his forehead and streamed on to his neck and chest as he watched himself move in and out of the stretched, pink ring straining so dutifully to accommodate him.

Clark's lips were irresistible, and his tongue was probably magical, Bruce decided as he leaned down and kissed him. Their kisses were all tongue and teeth and groans. Each sound only went as far as the other's mouth, each breath was only full of the other's air. It was intoxicating.

Bruce broke the kiss in favor of nipping at the perfect skin of Clark's throat again, twisting his fingers into the short, black waves on his head. They were soft just like his skin was. He couldn't get enough of this man. Fire was sparking in the very base of his spine, a kind of liquid fire that was leaking into his blood and spreading everywhere. He was close now. He wanted to slow down, but at the same time, he wanted Clark to have it the way he wanted: rough, and hard. They would have time for gentle later.

That thought shocked him. He didn't ever think of himself and any hookups with 'later' in any context. He frowned. _There is no later, except later tonight._ The thought made him feel hollow for the first time in a long time. It made him unreasonably mad at Clark, who would be taking his contentment with his singledom with him when he left. He wanted to _punish_ him for it. He reached down and shifted Clark's leg, pressing his knee up toward his chest and holding it there with his hand. The other wound between them to stroke at Clark's cock, and he planted one foot on the ground, using his thigh to push Clark's other leg wider. The new position and angle made Clark cry out with every stroke, his back arching and his perfectly defined muscles trembling.

Clark reached up and pressed his palms to Bruce's skin, his hands wandering with purpose before pulling him close. "Please come," he pleaded. "Come inside, me, I need to feel you, please," he said into Bruce's ear.

Bruce pinned his wrists again, growling in his ear, "You do feel me. You feel how deep my cock is inside you and you feel how much I want you to scream when you come."

"Oh God," Clark moaned. "Yes, yes, I will. Don't stop, please."

"And you're going to scream my name when you do, won't you?"

Clark's hands were clenching over and over. He wanted Bruce to let go of him, but they both knew he wouldn't. It made him even more turned on, his whole body now hurtling at full speed toward bliss. "Fuck," he whimpered. "Fuck, I—I'm gonna—oh, god. Fuck! BRUCE!" That bliss was like a cliff, and nobody ever realizes how insane it is to drive toward the edge of a cliff at a thousand miles per hour until they're already flying over the edge and into oblivion screaming out of equal parts exhilaration and resignation as they went. His oblivion was heightened as he heard Bruce moan his release. Some part of him wished there hadn't been a condom so he could feel the way Bruce filled him.

Bruce was whispering praises in his ear, telling him he was beautiful, and that he was sexy, and that he felt so good like this, and that he was right there, all between soft kisses and nips to his neck, cheeks, and lips. He realized that his eyes were closed, and he peeled them open to find Bruce's own eyes studying him, an expression like tenderness on his face.

Clark looked away. He didn't want that expression.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce stretched and smiled. His head was still pillowed on the arm of the couch. Neither of them had bothered moving. Clark had fallen asleep on top of him on the couch, wearing absolutely nothing. He had wrapped an arm around him casually, using the other to rake his fingers through the younger man's hair, gently massaging his scalp while his insides did all kinds of acrobatic maneuvers that insides really shouldn't be able to do.

They hadn't said much afterwards, just curled into each other and rested, catching their breaths and enjoying the aftermath as they came down. It wasn't awkward. Actually, it was very comfortable, something else that Bruce wasn't used to. He had whispered if he could see the other man again, but he'd already fallen asleep.

Now, he went to wrap his arms around the body on top of him only to discover that there was none. Confused, he sat up. His suit was gone from the floor and the coffee table. His tie, which had ended up flung on the steps, was missing. The condom wrapper had been picked up. Air flowed freely over Bruce's naked body, leaving him shivering. There was no sign of him, not even a note.

Clark Kent was a ghost.

 _Clark Kent is a ghost. He's going to haunt the couch in my penthouse for the rest of my life._ Bruce cursed himself all the way to the shower for letting his guard down.

Once the water was scalding his back, he had to laugh at himself. Finally, he'd met someone that was more of a guarded sex fiend than he was. It made him irritated to think he'd been beaten at his own game. Bruce felt like he practically invented 'fuck-em-and-chuck-em' especially when he was younger. It wasn't that he didn't have any game now, being on the receiving end of that kind of sucked. He wondered how many people woke up confused and alone as a result of him sneaking out of bed before they could trap him into a second meeting or taking their phone number.

He had better call Alfred and let him know to expect him for breakfast. But he wouldn't ever live down that he'd gotten blown off by a one night stand, and not the other way around. It kind of stung. Not kind of. It stung a lot. Clark Kent was the kind of guy you brought home to your parents, if you had any: intelligent, classy, but still somehow humble. Very, _very_ good looking, enough to leave the average mortal dumbfounded, and stable, with a good job that he studied for in college and worked hard to climb the ladder in.

 _And you know that after fucking him once?_

Bruce shook his head. No, he knew that after talking to him without wanting to punch him for more than ten minutes, and then wanting to keep talking to him long after the rest of the reporters covering the gala were long gone. He knew that after watching his eyes while he thought up his responses to questions, and he confirmed it when Clark's cheeks had tinted the lightest pink when he took his hand.

He was going to find that guy and get him to agree to a date if it killed him.

* * *

Honestly, by the time Monday came around and it was time for their weekly pitch meetings, Clark was still feeling like the muscles in his legs were misfiring. He told himself that it was because he simply hadn't been with anyone in quite a while. Though his friends at the Planet constantly dragged him out to clubs or bars to try to ditch him with a pretty girl—or guy once they found out he was into that—he never found himself feeling like he could go the distance with any of them. Eventually, he slowed down on one night stands too.

One night stands were not really Clark's _thing_ to begin with. He got attached too easily, and he knew it. So, he started trying to physically—and thereby emotionally—distance himself from the act. He made rules for himself:

 _1-Never take them home with you.  
2-Don't let them take you into the bedroom.  
3-Don't give them your full name or any contact information.  
4-No second rounds, no matter how good it was.  
5-No staying the night.  
6-Never let them tell you they liked it or you. It's a lie they tell so they can still seem polite._

He made those his mantra every time his friends took him anywhere, or every time he had to make an appearance at an event such as the one on Saturday. This made him frown as he hurried to secure his bike. The Daily Planet loomed 98 stories above him and so did the enormity of all the rules he broke with Bruce Wayne.

He hurried inside, pushing the button for the elevator. Not only did he knew Clark's first and last name, but also where he worked. He fell asleep in Bruce's arms like a contented puppy, not waking up until he was starting to feel sunlight on his face. And Bruce's words as he came down from that intense, mind-numbing orgasm had all been about how good he was, and sexy he was when he came, and whatever else. After that the next words he'd spoken were whispered "when can I see you again?" while his fingers were pressing into his scalp just so, and Clark had to do everything he could to just stay still and pretend to be asleep, and not run away while he was still naked.

Clark managed to get out of the elevator and drop his things off at his desk with one minute and fifty-two seconds to clock in. he quickly logged into his computer and did so, and then he pulled out his laptop and composition book and started to prepare himself for their pitch meeting in thirty minutes. He wanted to get Perry to let him investigate the outrageous scandal that Bruce Wayne had turned him on to.

 _Bruce Wayne still turns me on._

 _This is a problem._

"So how was the gala?"

Oh, Lois. Lois was an enigma. The girl had balls down to her ankles, but she was the most innocent-looking person he'd ever met. She had big, blue-green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair which framed her face in the same loose waves as always. She was all curves and woman, but her face and cheeks were still young, naturally flushed and a tiny bit round. Today she was wearing a teal button up with the sleeves rolled up, a dainty diamond pendant and matching stud earrings. She looked like she was a first year business major and not a pulitzer-prize-winning, no-holds-barred reporter.

For some reason, she was especially invested in ending his long commitment to being alone. He couldn't tell if it would be good or disastrous to tell her that he'd hooked up over the weekend. Sometimes, she seemed kind of sad when he said he'd been with someone. Sometimes, she looked sad when he said his weekend was boring. He couldn't tell what she wanted from him. He decided to fib. "The gala was fine. Boring, to be honest."

"Oh," she said, and she seemed deflated.

"I got a couple of good stories out of it though. One I think I might want your help with. It's right up your alley."

That piqued her interest, but she still seemed sad. "What is it?"

Clark plunged into the details, showing her all his notes on Bruce Wayne's interview. Lois listened in silence and then she said, "do you have a recording of the interview?"

"I—no." Clark couldn't keep the heat out of his cheeks.

"Why not? Clark?" Lois stared at him, and then a grin slowly formed on her face. "Oh. My God. You didn't."

"I didn't," Clark answered flatly, but it was no use.

"You had sex with Bruce Wayne."

Clark gave up.

Lois squealed.

"Can you please not?" Clark begged, looking around.

"What?!"

"Lower your goddamn voice," he hissed. "Can you help me with this or not?!"

"I will," Lois said smugly. "Only because you slept with Bruce Wayne _and_ you're going to have to see him again when we follow up on this."

Clark cursed under his breath. "Nobody's ever landed that guy more than once. I wouldn't keep your hopes up."

"Really?" She said, and then she pointed to the door of Perry's office, where none other than the Prince of Gotham was standing and knocking, all while looking around curiously.

Clark cursed and ducked his head. "I hate you, Lois," he said.

"Mr. Kent. What a coincidence seeing you again."

That was the same smooth voice he'd been using at first at the gala. He knew that voice was a show, so he responded in kind, standing and shaking his hand. "Mr. Wayne, what brings you by?" _What in the fuck are you doing here, Mr. Wayne?_ Was the subtext.

"What we spoke about," he answered. "Exposing this is very important for Gotham City. Your insights and your determination really impressed me. I was hoping to put in a good word for the article to be printed with your editor, Mr. Perry White."

"He's getting ready for a meeting now, I'm sure. Mr. Wayne, this is Lois Lane. She is going to be assisting me in the investigation."

"Oh, I've heard plenty about Miss Lane," Bruce said, extending his hand to her and shaking it kindly. "You're quite an experienced reporter yourself. I read the piece you wrote when you were embedded in the first division. It was a pleasure to read."

"Yeah, well. What can I say? I get writer's block if I'm not wearing a flak jacket."

Bruce laughed, and both he and Lois notice how hard Clark was suddenly focusing on his current task. Bruce's grin widened. "It seems as if this place is staffed with some of the strongest writers in the Continental US. I have the feeling the story is in better hands than I bargained for."

"Oh? Is there something more you'd like to add, Mr. Wayne?" Clark asked without looking up.

"Not at all. Just that, if all goes well with this article, I'll be around to negotiate something entirely different." Bruce glanced at his watch and then at Perry's door. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Kent. Please, take care." He nodded at Lois, and then he spun around and moved confidently toward the office.

Lois gaped, and then she smacked Clark's arm. "Seriously? Oh my god. I need to go... I don't know. Fan myself or something."

"Lois?"

"Hmm?"

"Have I told you I hate you today?"

"Yes, actually."

"I hate you, Lois Lane."

"Thank you again, darling. Now hurry up. We have fifteen minutes to prep this before I have to go prep _my_ stuff!"

"Alright alright. Here." They finally turned to a safer topic of conversation, one that was work related.

* * *

Their pitch meeting had gone fine. Perry had asked Clark if he got anything useful at the gala, and he did, and he presented it all as well as the outline for the article he'd already prepared. Perry gave him until noon to type up the article and submit his final draft. The others also had similar short articles, and were given deadlines for them. By the time they were all discussing the corruption scandal in Gotham, the meeting was supposed to be over in ten minutes. Lois had two other major stories ahead of that one that she had to do, and Clark had two as well. They decided that the Gotham story would be investigated in two weeks, and that their deadline would be next month.

Clark was kind of worried about it. That left him a very small window to get details on the story. He decided that, depending on what he found, he would cover it enough to bait either larger tv news media to cover it also, or to bait a criminal investigation. The way he figured, one or both of those things would happen the second the story hit the presses. He just had to make sure it wouldn't be swept under the rug.

He hurried to his desk and was about to settle in for a day of background information and note-taking after his article on the gala was typed, and was almost done with the article when a hand landed on his shoulder. The warmth of it sunk through his shirt and through his skin, all the way into his arm socket.

"May I speak with you privately?"

Clark stiffened. "Why?"

"For just a moment. I want to know how your meeting turned out." _I want to know if you're covering my story_ was the subtext of that, and _I want to talk to you because you took off after we fucked_ was the subtext of that subtext.

Clark nodded and grabbed his notebook and pen, and then motioned him toward the stairs. Lois winked as they walked by, and Clark glowered.

"Why not the elevator?"

"We're high enough up that it's faster and easier to take the stairs to the roof access. I know you're not _that_ out of shape, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce arched an eyebrow. "You have a smart mouth, Clark."

Clark decided to exercise his right to remain silent.

"I would have liked to know that you even made it home safely," Bruce said quietly.

Clark chuckled, pausing on the steps and turning to face him. "Let's not do this. You want to talk to me about the article, fine. But I'm not going to talk to you about what happened."

"Why not?"

"Because it's done and over with, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce sighed and nodded, gesturing for Clark to continue up.

The day was sunny and cloudless. The city and the harbor sprawled for miles around. From this height, even Gotham was visible. The wind was pulling at their shirts and threatening to pull their hats away. Bruce watched as Clark turned his face to the sun, smiling for a moment before taking his hat off and stuffing it in his pocket so that it wouldn't blow away.

"Perry greenlighted the article. Deadline's in a month. I'm traveling to Baltimore with Lois next week, and then I'm going to Colombia for a solo assignment. Then I have three days off to complete those write ups, and then I'm starting on Gotham."

"Will you need a place to stay or any resources while you're there?"

"The Planet has it covered," Clark answered. "But, while I'm gone, I'm going to leave some basics with Jenny so she can start some background work for me. I don't know much about the key council members and educational executives in Gotham, and she said she'll help me with a full report before I start. She will have your contact information if she needs something from you."

"Okay," Bruce nodded. "Look, there's one thing I wanted to ask you."

"What's that?"

"I know I'm the one that turned you on to this, and believe me, I'm... so grateful that _someone_ is finally listening, but... my name gets tangled in this mess, and it's going to be a big problem."

Clark nodded. "I understand."

"I know there's rarely such thing as off the record with press people, but seriously, I don't want my name in this."

"I promised to help you, not throw you under the bus. Trust me, will you?"

Bruce nodded. "Thank you."

"We'll take things from here," he said kindly. "You were right about us being the best writers on the continent. We'll get to the bottom of it."

Bruce nodded. "Now tell me why you left without saying goodbye."

"Did I owe you a goodbye?"

"It would have been nice," Bruce said flatly.

"Look, Bruce... don't do this. You know as well as I do that neither of us were prepared to go into this and come out in a relationship."

"I didn't ask you for a relationship. I asked if I could see you again."

Clark nodded, scowling. "Well, now you saw m—mmph—w-wait—"

Bruce had closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth to Clark's effectively cutting off the dismissive snark on Clark's tongue. Immediately, the air around them was searing hot despite the cold air. Hands were exploring and tugging, and lips and tongues were sucking and licking, low moans escaping from them. Bruce pushed Clark against the wall and pushed his knee between his thighs, and Clark unashamedly wrapped a leg around his hip in response.

Clark's lips were frantic, all hot breaths and wet lips, and then he suddenly pulled away, panting. He gripped the collar of Bruce's jacket and pushed him back far enough to make him stumble. "Why did you do that?" he snapped. He felt somewhere between angry and panicked.

"Because I wanted to. You're only mad because you did too."

"You don't get to use me, Bruce Wayne."

"No, but you get to use me, right?"

Clark looked him up and down and then snarled. "It's called Karma."

Bruce's eyes turned stone cold. "Fuck you, Kent."

"You did already. Don't get me wrong, it was... it was great. But it won't happen again." Clark yanked the door open and disappeared into the stairwell.

Bruce went after him, grabbing him by the wrist as he caught up.

"Let go of me, Wayne."

"You won't get rid of me," he said in Clark's ear. "The more you make me chase you, the more you run, the more I'm going to to follow. I'm a man that gets what he wants, Clark Kent. Don't forget that." He ducked out of the stairwell on the next level, and left Clark on the steps, dazed.


	3. Chapter 3

One month passed.

It was a long month. Besides a single email regarding some follow up questions for his article, Clark Kent didn't give him the time of day. Twice, he saw the man chatting it up with someone or another. Once was by coincidence in a club, where Clark was smiling brightly at a pretty, raven-haired girl with long nails that probably were fake and popped off on Clark's back later that night. The second time was in passing as he left Perry's office. He was engrossed in his work and didn't notice him—or he pretended not to notice. The second option was just as likely. He was fully aware that he fucked up with Clark, and knowing that he lost any chance with him stung more than he thought.

He found his attachment to the younger man to be unreasonable. They talked for a while and they fucked. Why was he so stuck on him? Was it because Clark managed to beat him at his own play? Or was it because he was beautiful, with those eyes that he would have guessed were colored with contacts were it not for that spot of brown in them? Maybe it was his voice that he couldn't get out of his head. He'd heard the full range of his inflections in one night, from professional to glacial, to friendly, to compassionate and understanding, to lost in pleasure and crying out his name.

Bruce decided it was they way Clark said his name that was stuck in his mind and couldn't be erased. Then he changed his mind and figured that it was the way Clark's mind worked, and the way he tilted his head a little bit when he was thinking. Or maybe he was just pathetic. The guy snubbed him. Rudely, even. He really should have just moved on.

But he couldn't.

Bruce didn't even try to hide his melancholy. Especially not from Alfred, who watched him all the time. Alfred was the father he needed in the absence of his own, who was horribly murdered in the street along with his mother when he was just a child. In fact, Alfred was his mother when he needed it too. He bandaged his wounds, listened to him, and suffered with him in the way that mothers knew how, but his solidarity and his advice were that of a man who was guiding his young ones into adulthood. That kind of also meant that Alfred knew what his moods were, and what they really meant. Alfred was his rock. There was no way to bullshit him.

And Alfred was currently looking at him with an arched eyebrow and waiting for him to speak. Bruce normally went to Alfred with everything on his mind, from business problems to Batman problems, to press and media issues... everything. It was rare for him to bring up personal problems since he didn't really have people to be 'personal' with, something that Alfred brought up constantly. Alfred knew that he would take his time to stew before he opened his mouth about anything, however, so he just watched his pseudo-son brood for a few weeks before realizing that he was finally ready to be open.

Bruce sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, staring at the fire that Alfred just started. "I met him, Alfred." At his confused look, Bruce explained, "I met the one person that could spin me around and put me in my place. And of course, I'm an idiot."

"I was aware of the latter, but not of the former," Alfred said primly. "Please, tell me more. Where did you meet this... young man, if I heard correctly?"

"Yeah," Bruce nodded. "Thanks," he added dryly.

"I do what I can, Sir."

"Har har."

"Well?"

"I met him at the gala. He's a reporter, he was covering the event. I... we talked for a long time," Bruce said, sounding like he was still in the ballroom. "He has heterochromia. His left eye has almost an entire quadrant that is brown instead of blue. Still... his eyes are... maybe even more so because of that, I think. But his eyes are _gorgeous_. Everything about him was utterly beautiful. Even his _voice_. Hell, do you know what I actually noticed about him? His eyelashes. His _eyelashes!_ When in the hell have you ever heard 'wow, they have amazing eyelashes' come out of my mouth? Seriously." Bruce gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "I sound pathetic."

Alfred's voice was surprisingly tender. "Not at all. Do you know his name?"

Bruce nodded. "Clark Kent. He's one of the top reporters for the Daily Planet."

"Ah," Alfred said, enlightened as to why the sudden and random interest in the news company. Starting about a month before, he'd taken Bruce to their main office multiple times, and he'd handled several phone calls involving the media company's finances.

Bruce nodded. "He came to ask me about stuff, you know, for his article on the gala, and then we got on the topic of how I've been trying to find the source of the issues in Gotham's educational department, and he just... took it and ran with it. His article on is supposed to come out in a week. He was... just as invested in it as I am. He felt what I was feeling. And it wasn't just something out of pity, either. It wasn't 'poor Gotham getting fucked _again'_ kind of thing. He seemed as angry as I was. So I told him other things. I told him about WayneTech projects and... he kept up. It was amazing. I've never met someone, even on our board, that understood the terms and the implications and consequences of things the way he does. And he helped me see things in different ways, too. I've never met someone so insightful. I pay twelve people millions of dollars to see things the way he did for free," Bruce chuckled. "And then..." his cheeks lit up, even though he knew that was useless. "I just wanted... I didn't want him to go. I didn't want the night to be over. We left the gala together, and I took him to the penthouse."

"It sounds like you had a lovely night, even better than you thought you would."

Bruce nodded. "I did," he agreed. "Except, when I woke up, he was gone. Without a trace, just..." he swallowed. "He just left. I went to find him, and he made it very clear that he didn't want to see me again. But... that was after we made out on the roof of his office building, so I don't really know what to make of that. And, to be honest, he kind of pissed me off."

"If I may, Sir, you've done the same many a time. What was it that made you leave those people the way you did?"

"Simple. They weren't relationship material. Great for a one time thing, but... in the long run, messing with any of them would have been bad for me. Oh God... you think that because of my history, he thinks I'll be bad for him."

"It seems like the most obvious answer, Master Bruce."

"But..." But, he couldn't argue. "I would be bad for him, wouldn't I?"

"That is not what I said, Sir."

"But it's still true. Let's face it, his career is on the up. He's gorgeous, he could get anybody on earth that is a better person than me. They could give him what he needs. And me? What in the hell do I have to offer that others don't? Money? He doesn't give a fuck about my money, in fact, he probably hates it. As for anything else? My soul rotted out of my chest the day my parents died, and all he is is a reminder of how empty that feels when I want a normal life."

Alfred was silent for a long moment. "If your soul were as rotten as you claim, I don't believe you would have had such a visceral reaction to Mr. Kent," he finally said.

"What do I do?" Bruce said after a long silence. He didn't want to think about that even though he was the one that brought it up. Still, Alfred was right. Maybe he wasn't as dead inside as he thought he was, or else he wouldn't be so _stuck_ on this—

"If I may, you should contact Mr. Kent again. Perhaps... don't take him to your bed this time, and... try not to be rude," he added pointedly. "A simple conversation will certainly help him understand you."

Bruce agreed, of course, but... how on earth was he supposed to control his hands? Maybe he should just go talk to him blindfolded, with his hands cuffed behind his back, and with earplugs in his ears. He felt ridiculous.

"Master Bruce, if you think you can't handle a simple conversation without ending up in bed, perhaps Mr. Kent has the right impression of you after all."

Bruce sighed. "You're right. I'm going to talk to him. _Just_ talk. Just to prove _you_ wrong, I won't even kiss him. On the lips." Bruce made that addendum in order not to set himself up for failure.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I wish you good luck with that, Sir. There's a certain romantic holiday on the horizon... perhaps you should secure time with him on that day before someone else does." With that parting shot, Alfred took his leave.

"Let's get him to listen to me first," Bruce mumbled into the empty room.

* * *

Clark was at his desk late again. He was reviewing Jenny's notes as well as finalizing his editing for his article in Colombia, which was due first thing in the morning. He was fully engrossed in his work. He had an earbud in one ear, and the other between his lips. It was a habit he only picked up recently and he hated it, but he left the damn thing there because he needed both hands to type. Thankfully, he could type exactly what he saw without having to really process it. His mind wasn't there. In fact, it wasn't even in Metropolis.

His mind was far away in Gotham City.

He found himself wishing that he hadn't told Bruce to stay away. The man wanted him. _If only for a few dates, what was the harm?_ As quickly as the thought popped into his mind, he shook it away. The harm was that he would fall immediately for a man as charming as Bruce Wayne. When they were done, he would be devastated.

He didn't want to admit that he already was devastated. _I ruined things. Again._

He growled when he realized he had typed 'blunk' instead of 'blink'. It was a stupid typo, dare he say even amateur. He sighed his frustration and decided to switch his train of thought back to Colombia, which was what he was supposed to be typing about. It was already 7:30 and most of the office was empty. The newsroom floor was silent and nobody was at their desk except him and Perry, who's desk lamp was still on.

And now, even he was leaving. "Almost done, Kent?"

Clark nodded. "Yes, Mr. White. I will arrive early in the morning to edit and submit my final copy for print."

"Mind if I take a look?"

Clark nodded, pushing back so that Perry could scan the article. Suddenly, he wished he had just said no and shut things down and left. He didn't want the extra work Perry would almost certainly make him do. He held his breath and waited for the barrage of flaws to be pointed out.

"Looks good. There were typos, and cut those quotes down just a little bit." Perry pointed out the quotes that seemed rather long. "Your final copy better be perfect."

Clark sighed his relief. "Thank you, Mr. White."

"Get some rest, Kent. You've earned it." Perry turned and walked toward the elevator. It dinged almost immediately, and Clark dove back in, looking for ways to edit down the quotes the editor had pointed out.

"You always the last one out?"

Clark froze, his heart suddenly thundering in his ears. Then he turned in his chair. "You... scared the life out of me." He stared into the brown eyes he'd been pining about while he was gone. "What are you... what are you doing here?"

"I want to talk to you."

Clark sighed. "Bruce..."

"Listen, hear me out, okay? I swear that if you still want to shut me down after this, I'll leave you alone. But just hear me out. Please."

Clark swallowed, but he nodded. "Fine," he said quietly.

"I _like_ you. I like to be around you. It wasn't just the sex. It wasn't liquor, I only had one drink. It wasn't any of that, and it wasn't... whatever you've got in your head. I'm not going to _leave_ you, and if you just give me a chance, I'll prove it."

Clark stared at his hands. "I... can't."

Bruce deflated. "Why?"

He twisted his fingers together, then untwisted them. Then he rubbed his face with his hands.

"Are you..." Bruce's throat seized as the thought crossed his mind. "Are you already with someone?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "No. don't you get it? I don't _date._ Ever. Every time I let myself want to be with someone, it... it ends badly."

"How badly?"

Clark flushed, uncomfortable. "I've gotten my heart broken needlessly too many times is all. I... tend to fall fast. Others, not so much. It makes me... a little crazy."

"Clingy crazy? Jealous crazy? What do you mean?"

"Uh... C, both A and B," Clark mumbled.

Bruce chuckled, and then he knelt down in front of Clark. "I'm not going to leave you," he said, taking Clark's hands. "If I'm here, Clark, it's because I already feel for you what I haven't felt for anyone before. Please believe me."

"I don't." Clark's throat was becoming a tight knot. "Please, don't," he whispered.

"Give in to me, Clark. Let me show you that I can fall for you, too. Let me show you that it can be good, and not painful." His eyes were so sincere and pleading, that Clark couldn't meet them anymore. "Hey, look at me," Bruce pleaded. "Please. All I'm asking you for is a little bit of trust. Can you do that?"

"No. No, okay? Just... go. How did you even get in here?"

"Clark—"

He yanked his hands away. "Don't you get it? I don't _want_ to date because of people exactly like you! You, with your pretty words and your stupid charm, and your ten thousand dollar smile, and your false promises! You are just like all the rest of them," Clark said derisively. "No, you're worse. You walk in to a room and you're all smooth and game, and everyone drops at your feet like you're royalty." He scoffed. "No wonder they call you the Prince of Gotham."

Bruce tried to speak, to interrupt, to _stop_ this awful truth, but he was pretty sure his jaw was falling off.

"And me? I was just like all of them," Clark whispered, and tears made his eyes shiny. "I told myself a thousand times. Hell, I have rules for people like _you._ But then all you had to do is pretend to be interested in what I had to say, and there I was under you just like everyone else. I'm so stupid," Clark gritted his teeth. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid,_ " he berated himself, _"_ I let myself break my rules for you once, and I'm already paying for it. I'm not doing it again."

"Clark..."

"I don't want it! I don't want you to promise me you'll stay so that you can just crush me when you go. I don't want you touch me, or make me think you want me. I want you to leave me the fuck alone. Why won't you just... go away? Just go. Leave me alone."

Bruce swallowed. "I don't..." His eyes were burning. "I don't want to do that," he whispered. "I don't want to because you don't want to be alone. You don't really want to be alone. God... who hurt you and made you so afraid?" he asked. He reached out, warning Clark with his eyes that he was reaching for him, and then gently rested his palms on Clark's thighs, sliding them up until he took his hands again. "I'm not asking you to trust me with your heart or your future. I'm not asking you to take a skydive of faith... not even a leap. Not even a baby hop. I just... want a step of faith. A baby step. Give me a chance to _earn_ your trust, Clark. Please, just give me that."

Clark was trying to glare at him, but he felt himself being worn down. Indeed, he was tired of always being alone. He was tired of constantly guarding himself. He was... just plain tired.

Bruce continued, unable to keep hearing that familiar pain that comes with interminable loneliness. "I know that I have to earn it, Clark. But I wouldn't be here if I wasn't willing to. It's like you said. You know that I have been—and _am—_ this person you are right now. Pushing away any chance for something real because it is opening yourself up for unnecessary grief and heartbreak. But I want to change all of that, starting with you."

"Why?" Clark asked, his voice disbelieving.

"Because I'm tired of this, Clark. I'm tired of always being on my guard, wondering if people are really interested in me, or if they just want a fun time, or some taste of what it's like being with a rich guy. Because I felt something with you, something I didn't think I'd ever feel. I felt genuinely bothered that you were gone—I didn't want you to go. I felt, for the first time, probably ever, that I _want_ to spend more time with you, know you, make you _happy._ Will you give me that chance?"

After a long and loaded silence, tears dripped onto their hands. "Okay," Clark whispered, his voice hoarse from the painful lump in his throat. "I... okay."

Bruce, laughed nervously, feeling a little bit disoriented. "Wh—really?"

Clark sighed. "Really? You just gave this whole speech and now you don't believe me?"

Bruce shook his head, smiling. "No, it's not that. I just... need to make sure my hearing is right."

Clark looked unamused. "I'm sure your hearing's fine."

"You're going to let me take you out then?"

Clark nodded.

"Okay, but... don't cry, okay? That shit is awkward."

Clark couldn't help his laugh as he let go of one of Bruce's hands to wipe at his face. "Better?" he asked with a sniff.

"Yes. You're smiling now, so that's definitely better."

Clark met his eyes again, an expression like shyness in them even as his lips were pulled into a tiny, flirty smile. "Are you going to kiss me now?" he asked.

Bruce stood and then pulled him to his feet. "No. First, I'm going to take you to dinner. I'll kiss you after."

Clark turned to grab his coat and save his work, but Bruce chuckled. "I didn't say dinner was today."

"What?!" Clark frowned.

Bruce skimmed his cheek with his nose, letting his lips linger a breath away. "Can I take you to dinner on Valentine's day?"

Clark's frown grew. "That's almost two weeks away."

"I know," Bruce said.

"You're going to make me wait two weeks to kiss you?"

"You made me wait a whole month. Two weeks won't kill you."

"Says you," Clark grumbled.

Bruce chuckled, finally pressing his lips to Clark's cheek. Clark smiled and wrapped his arms around him, letting him wind his arms around Clark's waist. Bruce pulled back to see that smile, and decided not for the first time that it was better than sunlight after a rainy day.


	4. Chapter 4

Clark was nervous. He fixed his tie for the nth time and pushed his glasses up on his nose. _Damn things never stay adjusted,_ he complained internally.

He tried not to wipe his hands on his suit, instead stuffing them in his pockets. In order to assuage his nervousness, he let himself contemplate the last twelve days. Instantly, he relaxed into a smile.

Bruce called him every night at the same time, 8:30pm. They spoke sometimes for only a few minutes, and sometimes for hours. He found it strange that, on those longer conversations, Bruce seemed to be driving, or about to drive. Sometimes, he'd end the call suddenly, but not without letting Clark know that they would talk tomorrow and that he couldn't wait to see him again.

Clark would always sit crosslegged on his bed, sometimes working, while they talked. Clark updated him on his article on Gotham from time to time, and Bruce told him about his job. Clark always listened to the inner workings of Wayne Enterprises with rapt attention. He could tell that Bruce liked when he understood something, so always would put down his pen or lower the lid of his laptop, and make sure that Bruce knew he had Clark's ear without any distractions.

Last night the call had been short. Like always, Clark opened with a typical greeting, but Bruce did not. "Hey, Bruce. Good day?"

Bruce's greeting was, "I hope you get paid for all the overtime you pull."

"What ever are you talking about?"

"You just got home, didn't you?"

"How do you know?"

"Because you're a perfectionist with your work."

"I have to be. You haven't seen Perry angry yet. Trust me, it's worth being anal about. And if you must know, it's salary plus travel and PTO."

"You got any PTO now?"

"Plenty. I literally never take days off."

That led to a conversation about overworking and some good advice on Bruce's part, which Clark knew he would be turning over in his mind for quite some time. In just those few days, they'd developed a comfortable forum for which to give each other their insights and opinions without judgement. Clark confessed that he was Superman, and in turn Bruce told him that the reason their calls ended so abruptly sometimes was because he was out on patrol... as Batman. Once the initial shock and disbelief were past, there was a phase of awkwardness and a bit of betrayal because they had so openly disliked each-other's alter egos. But after that, they tried to understand each other's perspectives, and then tentative thoughts or opinions on each-other's style. Clark certainly felt like he was a better hero thanks to Bruce, and he hoped that Bruce felt the same. Earning each other's respect in that aspect was definitely a work in progress, but it was progressing well.

Every day, Bruce kept his promise to earn Clark's trust, and each day, he was rewarded by another little piece of Clark's walls being torn down. With each part of his guard that he could tear away, he made Clark feel as safe as he could, and though they never spoke about it, he made sure Clark could also feel utterly _loved._ Even with something as simple as, "you work so hard, Clark. Between that and your work as Superman, you need to give yourself breaks. Take some time for you. When was the last time you wrote for something other than the paper? Or traveled just because you could? I just want you to feel strong enough for everything you have to do."

Clark had thought that over, and then said, "Thank you. You're right. I've let a lot of time build up in my PTO, but I've always just wasted it. Maybe I'm overdue for some time off."

Bruce laughed. "Super understatement, Superman. Would you put in for a week or two now?"

Clark tilted his head. "Why? What do you have in mind?"

"I'm going to Zurich next month. It's a two week trip. I'm having some meetings over the course of that time for an acquisition. But, that's two weeks of our schedule being all messed up and I don't want to be away from you that long. Will you come along?" Bruce sighed. "I know it's a work thing so you might spend some time bored, but... I mean, the hotel will obviously be the best, and it's a whole new city for you to explore while I'm working and... well, I won't be working _every_ day, so I'll have some time with you too. But honestly, I just want you with me. Let me be selfish with you for a few days. Please?"

Clark was grinning from ear to ear. "I love you," he gushed. Then he cleared his throat. "I mean, I'd love to."

Bruce didn't acknowledge the slip, but he agreed to send him the details of the trip later on.

Now Clark was frowning again. "Shouldn't have said that," he mumbled to himself, his hands clenching anxiously in his pockets. He checked to see if he had everything. Phone? Keys? Wallet...? Where was his wallet? _Where was his wallet?!_

He groaned. He went to the night stand, and it wasn't there. He went to the kitchen counter, and the living room table, and—

His phone pinged. _Coming up._

Oh God, he wasn't ready.

 _He's knocking. Just... breathe and open the door. Find your wallet later._

Bruce was jaw-dropping. He knew this, of course, having seen the smooth, put-together billionaire style for the first time a month before. He knew Bruce cleaned up spectacularly. But this? He wasn't ready for this. The smile on is face wasn't his classic ten thousand dollar dental job ad. It reached his eyes, making them glint just so in the clinical light of the hallway. His suit was custom tailored to perfection, as always, and charcoal gray with a black shirt and a matching dark gray tie that was dotted with a red pin dot pattern.

Bruce was gawking at him. Literally gawking. "Wow," he said simply, his voice quiet and oddly reverent. Then he scowled, muttering to himself, "how am I supposed to resist him in _this_ suit when I already know what's underneath it?"

Clark finally chuckled and stood aside, letting him into the apartment. "I would have met you outside," he said.

"Nonsense. I'm walking you to the car and and back to your door tonight." He smiled and pressed a feather-light, lingering kiss to Clark's cheek before wrapping him in a gentle embrace. "Hi," he said.

Clark melted against him. He felt at home in his skin again. "Hey," he whispered. "I've missed you."

"Me too," Bruce answered, tightening his arms around him. "Ready? We have reservations."

Clark was immediately flustered again. "I... was but now I don't know where I left my wallet, so—"

"Clark, relax," Bruce commanded, rubbing his arm gently. Amused, he pointed at the coffee table.

"Oh," Clark said, embarrassed. He slipped the leather into his pocket and then took Bruce's extended hand.

"Oh, one more thing. Happy Valentine's day," Bruce said, producing a black gift bag.

Clark smiled brightly and ran to retrieve his own gift box, a blue one with a red bow.

They sat on the couch as they exchanged their gifts: Bruce revealed a book he'd told Clark he wanted to read last week but had never gotten around to ordering, and Clark revealed a brand new, leather bound journal.

Bruce was smiling as he read the cover, his fingers trailing over the words in a way that made Clark swallow hard. Who knew that _reading_ could be sexy? Suddenly, it was very warm in the apartment. "Thank you," he finally said, pulling Clark against him in a one-armed hug. "I can't believe you remembered this."

"I hope you like it as much as you hoped you would," Clark answered. Then he said, "I've never had a journal like this before. It's... it's beautiful. You didn't have to do that."

Bruce just kissed the side of his face. It was maddening that he was kissing him everywhere except for on his lips. He wanted those lips to electrify him again. He pouted. "You promised," he whispered.

"And I will keep my promise," Bruce answered cheekily, "just not now. Come on, let's leave these here so we're not carrying them."

Clark nodded and stood with him. Together, they walked out the door. Bruce kept his hand on Clark's back as he turned the key in the lock. They took the elevator down to the first floor because Bruce wanted to keep him close. He pried Clark's nervous fingers apart and then linked them through his own, pulling him flush against his chest with an amused grin.

"Relax," Bruce said into his ear, before hooking his arm around him.

Clark leaned against him and allowed himself to inhale that amazing scent he'd been denying himself for so long. "What was I thinking?" he asked, mostly to himself.

"You weren't," Bruce said. "You were protecting yourself. Who could blame you? I just want to show you that you don't have to protect yourself from me."

"Okay," Clark agreed, since he didn't really have an answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce had been nervous. Alfred had to remind him how to knot his tie because he was standing in front of the mirror and staring at it blankly. The amusement was evident in Alfred's tone despite its flat inflection as he instructed him step by step.

He'd glared.

Alfred drove him in comfortable silence. He was still having way too much fun, Bruce could tell. When they arrived at the entrance to the apartment building, he simply opened the door for Bruce and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

He'd been anxious as he rode the elevator to the fifth floor. His nerves were wrecked as the door dinged open and as he knocked lightly on Clark's door. And then, he could _see_ him and all of that anxiety evaporated, especially when he saw Clark's hands, and his eyes, and his wallet discarded on the coffee table... and the black suit that outlined his body in a way he could only describe as _succulent._ Clark Kent was a succulent man. _Christ._

But besides that, Clark wanted this to go well. He was nervous, too. That made his own anxiety evaporate. He did his best to reassure Clark that he was happy to be in this moment with him, and the way Clark was responding helped keep away his own nerves.

Now Clark was leaning against him in the car, breathing slowly as they traveled. His breaths were warming the side of his neck through his collar. Their fingers were still locked together on one hand, and Bruce's other arm was curled loosely around the younger man's shoulders.

"Feel better?" he asked quietly.

Clark nodded, the movement barely notable. "Thank you for this," he said.

"Thank you for finally letting me take you out," Bruce retorted.

Clark laughed. "You're a man that gets what you want," he said.

"I'm glad you didn't forget," Bruce said in his ear.

Clark shuddered.

Dinner was fun and light hearted. It reminded Bruce of the first time they were able to sit and talk, after the more difficult parts of their conversation had passed. Clark laughed a lot, and Bruce loved it. He tried hard to pull that perfect smile from him over and over. _That smile could raise the dead_ , he thought, because that was definitely what was happening to him.

He tried not to think about it, but he couldn't help himself. Those words had tumbled so easily from his lips, an accidental slip, like they'd been on his tongue his entire life and speaking them was perfectly natural or instinctive. Then he caught himself, and he could tell Clark was suddenly extremely anxious. _"I love you. I mean, I'd love to."_

Clark _loved_ him. He knew Clark wasn't ready to admit that yet, but on a day like this, sitting across from him and watching him try to contain his laughter over dinner and wine on Valentine's Day, Bruce felt like he could entertain the idea at least a little bit. So, while he didn't say it out loud, he did say it in his mind as he laughed along. _I love you too, Clark,_ his mind said as their hands met in the middle of the table, and as Clark pushed his glasses up on his nose. _I love you so much already,_ his chest said with a squeeze with each happy laugh that Clark emitted.

He thought the reason for the glasses was so simple that it was laughable how well they actually worked. The first thing Bruce noticed about him was the very color and shape of his eyes, and he knew just as quickly that this person speaking to him was extraordinary in every way. Still, even he didn't realize he was literally inhuman. The trick worked.

"What are you thinking about?" Clark asked, and Bruce realized he'd fallen silent in his reverie.

"You," Bruce answered simply. "I was thinking about the first time I talked to you. I honestly didn't hear a thing you said. I was... stuck. Literally lost in your eyes. They were the first thing I noticed about you."

Clark rolled his eyes and chuckled, but his cheeks were flushing pink. "Spare me," he said.

"It's true."

"Were you lost in my eyes just now, then?"

"Drowning in them," Bruce answered with a smirk. "I fell in and your damn glasses kept me from getting back out."

Clark rolled his eyes again. "You fell through my glasses, then?"

"Whatever," Bruce said, defeated.

They both laughed. They shared their dessert and then Bruce asked if they could walk together near the harbor. They talked even more as they walked, and Clark's free laughter was joyful. Bruce was smiling as he told some story, although again, he honestly hadn't heard. He was too busy trying to identify the color of Clark's skin as the moonlight reflected into the water and on to his face. It made his eyes an incandescent shade of blue-gray. The harsh orange of the distant city lights contrasted the pale white-blue like fire and ice simultaneously existing just under the surface of his skin.

Bruce leaned over and met his lips. Clark cut off his words with a surprised gasp, but met the kiss happily, mumbling a disgruntled "finally" which caused Bruce to laugh out loud as their lips met again. _You're mine,_ his arms said as they wrapped around him. _I'm yours,_ he thought Clark's arms said when they returned the embrace.

They kissed again when they reached Clark's door. Clark retrieved the box with the gift for him, hoping that he would follow, and their night wouldn't be over. Bruce was insistent in waiting by the door. Given Clark's anxiety about the way they got together, he thought it would be best if they refrained from sex tonight, and for a few nights, and just got to know each other instead. Clark couldn't really argue with that, so he said goodbye with a pout, which Bruce tenderly kissed away.

"Don't pout," Bruce said against his lips. "I'll call you when I'm home, okay?"

Clark nodded. "When can I see you again?" he asked.

Bruce couldn't help his laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce and Clark settled back into talking every night, although their conversations were changing. They talked more in depth about Clark's past attempts at relationships, and they talked about his family and his time as Superman. Bruce arrived at the conclusion that Clark, for all of his traveling, and hooking up and being a citizen of the world, was practically a virgin… at relationships, at being a super hero, and at life. It was an interesting paradox, but an endearing one.

They decided to see each other on the weekend, this time for a casual dinner. For their next date, they went to a book signing in a book store, a newer book from the same author that wrote the book Clark gave to Bruce. On another day, they had a heated debate about politics over coffee, and then they got in to asking each other about work, first about a rumor Clark heard about WayneTech's robotics division, and then about the developments in Clark's Gotham articles, which had ended up turning into a three part series published over the course of one week.

The series was quickly garnering national attention. Public outcry turned twitter into a war zone (as usual), YouTubers were covering it in their videos, online and paper news outlets were trying to find any more information to post, and federal investigators had put out an official statement saying that they would look into the allegations brought forth by the Daily Planet. Major news broadcasters were interviewing angry and disgruntled parents in 'man-on-the-street' interviews, and the city council and educational department leaders whose names were brought up in the article were suspended without pay pending the end of the investigations.

"I can't thank you enough, Clark," Bruce said quietly. "This is huge. Now with the new people and hopefully some new laws, funding will start to go where it is actually needed."

"I just did my job," Clark said affably. "Our government is supposed to be by and for the people. But how can the people speak up if they aren't informed? That's why news outlets and reporters exist." He squeezed Bruce's hand. "This is the best outcome I could ever hope for as a reporter."

Bruce's grateful smile became teasing. "Yeah, well I also heard some rumors that Mr. White wants to submit the article for an award."

Clark scowled. "I know," he grunted. "And I don't want him to. Everything that's happening now is all the award I need."

"I know," Bruce answered. "I always knew. That's why I went to you."

"That and other things," Clark grinned.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Can you blame me?"

The weeks passed in a blur for Bruce. Clark had ended up traveling for ten days on assignment, which switched up their 8:30 phone calls and ended up stomping out their plans for a date _twice._ The first time Clark spent two days stranded because of a blizzard, and the second time was because Perry had royally reamed him out about the article, which he had to stay and rewrite, probably out of fear for his life.

"He probably keeps a Kryptonite shiv in his desk," Clark complained, much to Bruce's amusement.

"A _shiv_?" he repeated.

"A bona fide, fresh out of prison, had to sharpen my tooth brush on the wall for three weeks to defend myself shiv! Except, made of Kryptonite."

Bruce had laughed out loud. He was sure Perry didn't suspect a thing about him, but the man also wasn't the Chief Editor because of his lack of observation skills. Still, people don't _expect_ someone they know to be the Man of Steel, or the Batman, or what have you, so they don't connect the clues they have to something that absurd simply because they aren't looking for it. On the other hand... well, Perry White printed enough Superman headlines and pictures to have recognized Clark by now. Bruce figured he was probably right and decided to leave him to his work. "That thin air must be doing something funny to your brain cells."

Clark had chuckled, but it died quickly. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"It's okay. Really, it is. Do what you have to do. God knows that We'll probably have to cancel on each other a thousand times from here till… you know, whatever the future holds. It happens. I'm not mad."

"Okay. Miss you," Clark whispered.

"I miss you too. Don't work too hard, okay?"

"Kryptonite shiv," Clark reminded.

He burst out laughing as he hung up.

He missed Clark more and more as they prepared for the trip to Zurich. The feeling became an ache that sat in his stomach all the time, like really bad indigestion. They did manage lunch at the Planet just before Clark's trip, but they hadn't managed a visit together since. During lunch, he told Bruce that Perry had approved the time off without even letting Clark finish his sentence.

Clark was missing him too. He could tell because Clark's voice slowly lost its enthusiasm with every call. Bruce tried not to let his melancholy get to him too, but it was difficult. On the day he returned from his trip, finally, Alfred made peanut butter cookies, and he had a box full of them delivered to Clark's office. He got a happy phone call, but Clark's voice faded to a whisper when he finally said, "I'm afraid."

After a long quiet, Bruce said, "I know."

"I... didn't mean for our dates..."

"I know, Clark. Stuff happens. We're still on for our trip. I'm looking forward to having you all to myself."

Clark breathed in relief for a long moment, and his voice was steadier when he said, "Me too."

Now, he was at the airport waiting for Clark to come. Alfred had gone to pick him up close to an hour ago, and he was pacing anxiously. He wanted coffee. It was three in the morning, and they had to clear immigration or whatever before they could board their flight. They were scheduled to leave at 7:18 in the morning, which was plenty of time for him to come.

 _Or for him to not come._

Bruce swallowed. _What if he's had enough? What if he's spooked because of all the missed calls and dates? Does he still think I'll bail? Shit._

He called Alfred. It rung twice, then three times. Finally, the ringing stopped. "Hey, what's the status?"

"Everything is in order, Master Bruce, not to worry."

He sighed in relief. "Is Clark okay?"

"Would you speak with him, Sir?"

"I—just tell me if he's okay."

"He is just fine, Sir. Would you speak with him?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, please." There was a moment of quiet and rustling, and then Bruce was smiling. "Hi baby," he whispered.

"Hi," Clark answered. "Almost there," he said.

"I'm dying to see you," Bruce said. "I was worried you wouldn't come."

"I wouldn't miss it," Clark said quietly. "Are you okay?"

Bruce was smiling again. "Just happy to hear you."

"Tired, too, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Can I hug you now?"

Bruce startled. "You're here now?" He looked around, looking for his favorite pair of blue eyes, framed like live pictures in glossy black frames. He saw the sleek black car pull up to the drop off area and he couldn't help his grin.

Clark and Alfred unloaded Clark's things, but that was as far as Clark got before he dashed inside and into Bruce's arms.

* * *

Clark was tired. He'd been fretting about everything, checking everything anxiously. He wrote a thousand checklists and then checked each one a thousand times.

 _Passport. I need my passport... did I put that in my backpack with my laptop? Oh God._

Alfred, which he knew was Bruce's butler (he had a _butler?_ Christ!) had arrived and watched Clark's frazzled checking for a moment before he gently took the current comprehensive checklist from Clark's hands. "If I may, Master Clark," he said kindly.

Clark was embarrassed, but he nodded. Alfred carefully read off each item, and Clark checked for it. He also suggested a couple of things Clark forgot, and Clark hurriedly packed them. By the time he was finally convinced that everything was packed and they dragged his things out to the car, they were running slightly behind, which made Clark even more frazzled.

Before Alfred opened the door for him, he asked, "Why are you truly nervous, Master Clark?"

Clark looked away. "I've just... never gone away with someone before."

"I am very sure Master Bruce will make sure you have a wonderful time."

Clark nodded, and Alfred opened the door, motioning him in. Once they were in the car, Clark said, "I'm not worried about the trip."

"You are worried that your story will end when your travels do."

"Something like that... yes."

"Hmm."

After that, they hit the highway, and the sound of the road lulled Clark into a light sleep. The trip to Gotham's Archie Goodwin International Airport, AGI, as it was known, was more than an hour and a half long. The road was a dark one hugging the harbor. Normally Clark took the toll tunnel to Gotham, but the area was closed for repairs for a few days.

He woke up when they were entering Gotham. After a moment, he said, "Alfred?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long have you been... um, Bruce's butler?"

"Since before he was born, Master Clark."

"You know his whole family, then."

"I did. I knew his parents, and I knew his grandparents. They passed away when he was very young, only a baby. His parents passed on when he was young also, and he was entrusted into my custody for the remainder of his upbringing."

Clark swallowed. "That's... so you're like his father, in a way."

Alfred was silent for a long time. "I never felt that I needed a family of my own because of the Waynes. I cannot thank them enough," he finally said.

"He... never talks about them."

"Perhaps that is because no one ever asks."

That was a painful thought. Did Bruce really not have anyone besides Alfred to talk to him about the things that hurt him? But he'd lived like that for so long...

No wonder he'd said he spent so much time pushing people away. Clark didn't want to be one of those people. "I don't want to bring up something that could be painful—or too personal."

Alfred glanced into the rearview mirror, understanding in his eyes. "Then I don't believe you understand how much Master Bruce cares for you. You are the very definition of 'personal' to him. I'm sure that, even if he reacted poorly, he would tell you anything you wanted to know."

"He would react badly."

"I am not sure, Master Clark, but probably. It has been many years, and Master Bruce has always remained very private about his grief, even as a child."

Clark frowned. He bit his knuckle hard. "Well... but he... that doesn't make any sense. He stays private about his emotions his whole life and then suddenly he would tell me his whole life story? Why?"

Alfred remained silent.

Clark felt dread pooling in his stomach. None of Bruce's behavior made any sense, and alarms were blaring in his ears so bad he almost physically covered them. All he wanted to do was _run._

Why would Bruce have a sudden change of heart? Surely it wasn't because of him? But... Bruce had been trying really hard. He still called every day even though he knew he probably wouldn't get an answer while Clark was traveling for work, and he also made sure Clark knew about his plans, schedule, even who he was going to be with, or if he was going to be alone. He hadn't given Clark a single reason to date to feel afraid or jealous.

That in itself was reason to be alarmed. But he also felt guilt. "If that's true, then shutting him down... the first time... that was a mistake," Clark whispered. "I really hurt him, didn't I?"

Alfred smiled a little. "You just gave him some motivation and food for thought, Sir. Trust me, it was good for him."

"I hope you're right, Alfred." Clark swallowed and stared out the window. They were close enough to the airport now that he could see the planes' wheels as they got closer, the wings seeming enormous from this point of view.

Alfred's cell phone rang just as they turned toward the airport entrance. Ahead, there were three ways they could take, and naturally, they were all convoluted. One read "Arrivals", one read "Departures" and one read "Parking". Alfred missed the Departure ramp trying to retrieve his phone. Thankfully it was easy to circle back around by the Arrival ramp. He spoke lowly for a moment, and then he simply reached back and said, "For you, Sir."

It could only be one person. "Hi baby." He sounded anxious.

"Hi," Clark answered. His voice loosened the knots his insides had turned into almost instantly. "Almost there," he said wistfully, watching as the Departure ramp came back into view.

"I'm dying to see you," Bruce said. "I was worried you wouldn't come."

Clark's heart squeezed painfully. "I wouldn't miss it," he said quietly. "Are you okay?"

There was a soft sigh and then silence. "Just happy to hear you," he said. He sounded exhausted again.

"Tired, too, huh?"

"Yeah," Bruce said. He sounded like he was smiling, the way he smiled when he was just listening to Clark talk.

Alfred pulled into a parking spot, tapping the hazard lights. Clark practically fell out of the car in his rush. "Can I hug you now?"

"You're here now?!"

Clark didn't wait for an answer. He hurried to help Alfred pull his stuff out of the trunk, and then he ran inside and launched himself at Bruce.

Bruce held him tightly, almost as if he wanted to absorb Clark into his body. Clark felt every insecurity he had vanished. He pulled himself closer and inhaled, loving the freshly showered scent that Bruce's skin had. "I missed you," he said simply.

"I might never let you out of my sight again," Bruce answered, only half joking.

Clark grinned against him, pulling back enough to be able to lean up and meet his lips. They kissed slowly, tasting the relief on each other's tongues. It was just what they needed, until they eventually needed air more.

"Hi," Clark said with a cheesy grin.

Bruce leaned his chin on Clark's shoulder, not quite willing to let him go yet. "Hey," he answered quietly.

Clark pulled back long enough to meet his eyes. "Did you really think I would bail?"

Bruce shrugged. "You and I both know it wouldn't be the first time someone bailed on either of us."

Clark swallowed, his previous guilt crashing into him again. "Not me," he said simply.

Bruce finally smiled. "No," he agreed, "not you." _I love you,_ he wanted to say again.

"I'm... here to stay, Bruce."

Bruce tilted his head, studying Clark. "Does that mean that I've successfully convinced you that I'm not going to run off on you?"

"That depends on whether or not you're going to keep convincing me."

"Every day."

"Then I'm convinced. For now."


	7. Chapter 7

The city was beautiful. Their hotel suite was in the luxurious Widder Hotel, overlooking one of the oldest roads in the city. Their suite was gorgeous, almost a small apartment. It was still large for a hotel room, but still intimate and cozy, with a huge bed and a beautiful bathroom that had a rain-shower shower head and a bench and massaging shower attachment that they took advantage of together. Immediately. And repeatedly.

Things changed in Zurich. Bruce had six meetings and two dinners scheduled over the two weeks. He had several days off, but they spent all of his free time together, either touring the town or staying in. Clark was less afraid now, but there was no cotton candy clouds and rose-colored glass. They took their time with each other, argued once or twice—or more, really, but solved each tiff without further incident.

Clark finally got the nerve up to ask Bruce about his family. As Alfred predicted, it instantly soured his mood.

"Bruce?"

Bruce had been smiling over breakfast, sipping at his coffee. "What's up?"

"Um... Alfred..." Clark sighed. "He said something that stuck in my head, and I want to ask you about it."

Bruce's smile lessened. "What is it?"

"He said you never talk about your parents because nobody ever asks."

"Or because I don't want to talk about it," Bruce said flatly. He stood, leaving the majority of his breakfast there and walking out of their hotel suite without so much as saying goodbye.

He'd spent the whole day cursing himself for bringing it up. At night, Clark slipped into bed anxious, laying down alone and closing his eyes, hoping to have the chance to apologize in the morning.

 _I better be ready to grovel._

 _No way. You better just pack your stuff now. He's going to throw you out, just like they always do. You fucked up again. Why do you always do this to yourself?_

 _I thought he was it this time._ Clark curled inward, trying to keep the pain away, but it was already crushing him. _I wanted him to be in_

He sobbed until he fell into a light, restless sleep.

* * *

He was roused by soft kisses on his skin and fingers through his hair. He stiffened, confused. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the clock read 2:37am and that it was pitch black.

After a moment of silence, Bruce spoke, his voice a almost a whisper. "I was seven. My parents took me to see a movie. I was insisting on watching The Mask of Zorro, and my father finally gave in. Of course that movie was... _way_ too old for me. We left early. We were going to where we parked when a guy came out of the alley. Now when I think of it I know he was waiting for us, but in the moment it was just another robbery. He took my dad's wallet and watch, and he wanted my mom's jewelry, but my mom... she started screaming, or maybe she was crying. Or both, I don't know. My dad..." Bruce swallowed. "He tried to talk him into letting us go. He got what he wanted. We just... wanted to go home. But he fired anyway. My mother took one to the throat, and my father took two center mass." He took a deep breath. "That was the official autopsy report. I just remember my ears ringing—the gun was so _loud—_ and then I was running. I don't know how long I ran before I had to stop."

Clark sat up and turned the lamp on, and then he turned around and wrapped his arms around Bruce's middle, holding him tightly.

Bruce continued speaking, leaving his fingers tangled in Clark's hair. "Alfred is right. After that night, I sort of... shut down. I felt dark and afraid. I felt guilty for making my parents take me to see that stupid movie, and even guiltier that I lived and they didn't. I felt like if people could just kill whenever and however they wanted, with no regard for what the consequences were, then I didn't have to give a fuck either. So anyone close enough that they did ask me how I was doing never got an answer. I pushed them all away. Even Alfred, for a while. But... well, Alfred knows me better than I know myself, and he's better at playing that game than I'll ever be."

Clark chuckled. "I got that vibe from him."

"Yeah. I couldn't win against him. But the rest... and, you know, eventually, there would be new people that would want to be a part of my life, but I was always leery. They never caught my parents' killer. I don't know who that man was or why he was waiting for my parents. I don't know why he killed them. That detail has marked me, in a way. I don't like not knowing people's motives. It made me keep everyone at arms' length. And eventually, they all just stayed away, unless they wanted something from me. That made me keep everyone even farther away."

"Of course it would," Clark whispered. "Of course it did. That must have been so lonely," he said mournfully. He sat up and pulled himself against Bruce, wrapping his arms and legs around him and guiding his head to rest on his chest. "I didn't mean to bring up something so painful," he said quietly. "But I'm glad you were able to get away that night. You have taken that experience and used your hurt and anger in a way that helps the people of Gotham City, both as the Batman and as Bruce Wayne. Your parents, if they could see you, would be proud. I know I am."

Bruce nodded against him, burying himself fully in the comfort Clark was giving him. "Thank you, Clark," he whispered. Then he swallowed. "I... I'm sorry about this morning."

Clark nodded. "It's forgotten," he said easily.

"Seriously? That simple?"

Clark smiled, but it was a smile Bruce hated because it was a sardonic smile with no light in it. "Normally this would be the point where I pried too far too soon into someone's business, and they hate me for it and bail. I won't lie to you, I thought that this was it."

Bruce felt like a fish, the way his mouth opened and closed. He decided to leave it closed.

"You could have told me that you were secretly the zodiac killer, and I would have just been happy that you didn't kick me out."

Bruce let out a snort. "Doubtful. Besides, I'm not old enough to be the zodiac killer."

"You would have had him for breakfast."

Bruce smiled. "Maybe." Then he pushed Clark onto his back, laying on his side and propping up on his elbow so he could meet his eyes. "There are always going to be things I hate to talk about, Clark, things that you'll want to know and I'll be shitty about. I apologize for today, and in advance. Know that, even though those things make me upset, I'm not going to _leave_ you for asking."

Clark swallowed, feeling all of his anxiety melt away. "Okay."

Bruce leaned down and kissed him sweetly. "Thank you for caring, Clark."

Clark startled, his eyes widening. "W-what?"

Bruce sat up and frowned, confused. "I said, thank you for—"

"I know what you said, but... why? Isn't that... I don't know, too much? Why aren't you berating me for prying or being too nosy?"

Bruce's frown deepened. "Because you're not being nosy. You're caring about my feelings and my state of mind," Bruce answered like it was obvious. "Who the fuck told you it's _wrong_ to ask about someone's feelings? Especially someone you're dating?"

Clark was frowning now too. "I don't..."

"Clark?"

"What?" Clark asked, completely confused.

"You can ask me whatever you want. I promise to try not to be an asshole. No guarantees. But I will try. Okay?"

Clark nodded. "Okay, but... why?"

Bruce seemed suddenly vulnerable, in a different way than he'd been explaining all about what happened to his family. "Because there's literally nobody in the world like you. Because you're the most giving person I've ever met. You're so disarming… I never once felt uncomfortable telling you about me, or about Gotham, or my projects. You listened to all of it without judgement despite what was probably a horrible first impression. You're always like that. Even now, I knew I was going to answer your question because I trust you not to hurt me with what I tell you. I did from the beginning, that's why I told you about Gotham." He sucked in a breath, his hands suddenly trembling just a little bit. "Because you won me over in minutes, and I will never shake the feeling that we're supposed to be together," he whispered. "Because I _know_ the only reason you're ever going to ask is because you love me, just like the only reason I'll ever answer is because I love you too."

Clark's eyes were instantly full of tears. "You... you do?"

Bruce nodded. "I do. I love you too, Clark. Thank you for caring. Thank you for trusting me with your _soul._ It's as beautiful as the rest of you."

Clark scrambled into his lap and kissed him hard, pouring all his emotion into it, as if it were water that he could pour straight onto Bruce's tongue.

Bruce slipped his hands up under Clark's tee shirt, that warmth of his skin making his palms hot. He smiled when Clark raised his arms over his head, facilitating the removal of his shirt. He shuddered as Bruce's fingers traced over his skin, sending tingles skittering across his skin. He remembered how his eyes had followed the movements of his hands while he talked, thinking about how they would feel against his skin. But now, as Bruce's fingers teased the edge of his shorts and slipped over the muscles of his back, he decided not for the first time that his hands were much better than he had imagined.

Bruce was taking his time, trailing soft, loving kisses over his whole face, down the side of his neck, nipping at his throat, and across his clavicle to his shoulder. He kissed all the way to Clark's fingertips, meeting his eyes as he did. _I love you,_ Clark thought Bruce's eyes said as he nipped at the very end of each finger.

Bruce took his other hand and repeated the treatment in reverse, tickling his palm with his tongue, that tender expression on his face that had made Clark want to run at first. Now he reveled in the pure affection that he was receiving following Bruce's declaration of love, which would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn't been sitting down. When Bruce reached his neck again, he wrapped him in a tight embrace. After a moment, his hands slipped down over his back again, massaging lightly for a moment. He tapped on Clark's shoulder, and both smiled brightly as he scooted off Bruce's lap and laid down on his back. Bruce took his time again, exploring and worshipping Clark's skin. He teased the small bud of his nipple with his tongue, grinning when Clark sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn't until he felt Bruce's hands on his thighs that he realized that he'd spread them wide for him to lay between as his lips and tongue continued trailblazing all over his chest, sucking against his other nipple and causing him to moan.

"Bruce..."

"Yes?" Bruce asked, looking up and grinning. He still had a little section of Clark's skin between his lips. He trailed his tongue down the outlines of his ab muscles, moving slowly lower and lower as he made sure to lavish every reachable inch of Clark's skin.

Clark forgot what he was going to say, his words dissolving into another moan.

"Can I take these off?" Bruce asked with a grin, his fingers teasing at the edge of his sleep shorts.

"Yes please," Clark pleaded.

Bruce took his time again, letting his fingers trail over his muscled thighs, over his calves, lightly tickling his foot as he finally slipped them off, leaving Clark completely bare. He gave the same loving treatment to the foot he'd caused to twitch, apologizing with his eyes as he kissed each toe and gently massaged the arch. His lips left a slow, simmering trail of feather light kisses and gentle nips from the ball of Clark's ankle to the side of his knee, and then his tongue slipped and tasted all the way up the inside of his thigh.

Clark trembled and panted, each little nip or sweep of Bruce's tongue making him warmer and warmer until heat was taking over his entire body, the sweetest slowest burn his skin had ever experienced. It was slow enough to sink into his bones and leak into his blood, burning away the oxygen in it and leaving him gasping.

 _This is what that night should have been like._ Clark startled as he followed that thought up. There had been sparks on their first night. A hot, bright flame that burned intensely and flamed out quickly. Clark had been happy with it then, when he thought that was the only way he could ever get warm. But Bruce had offered him this, this warmth that wouldn't just go away in the morning. Instead of taking it, he'd left. He'd chosen the cold over this? He couldn't help the sound that fell out of his lips as Bruce's arms wound around him, his fingers kneading into his butt cheeks as he rained kisses all over Clark's stomach, teasing the area around his navel.

He could never be in the cold again after this. He didn't want to be, and he knew that Bruce wouldn't let him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Suddenly, tears were clogging his throat painfully. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I hurt you when I left. But I hurt myself too. I wish I could take it back."

Bruce's hands reached up and took his, but he didn't move to detach his mouth from the very bottom corner of Clark's abdomen, right where the V of his hips began. Instead, he lapped at the spot with his tongue, driving Clark to distraction, until all he wanted was for Bruce's mouth to lap and suck and kiss where he needed it the most.

Then, without letting go of his hands, Bruce trailed his kisses upward, causing a whimper of protest from Clark that made him chuckle. He placed a gentle kiss just left of the center of Clark's chest, just over his heart. Then he said, "Everything happened just the way it was supposed to," he said quietly. "I wouldn't change any of it." Then he leaned up and took his lips, kissing him slowly. "You are worth it," he whispered, "and I won't waste this chance."

Clark was alive as their lips moved together. He figured love that wasn't unrequited would do that to him. "I love you," he said happily.

"As I love you," Bruce answered. He felt Bruce's fingers finally wrap around his erection, stroking as leisurely as his kisses had been, and then releasing him to ease inside of him. They both groaned as his fingers worked to ready Clark, slicked by lube Clark didn't know when he'd gotten.

When Bruce finally took him, he had a new sensation he hadn't felt before:

 _Peace._


End file.
